What Follows
by Lamia of the Dark
Summary: Oneshot. They don't figure out what that last prophecy meant. Aziraphale lives through his execution. Crowley dies. Aziraphale... does not react well. (And that's an understatement.)


~ What Follows ~

_i. what follows will swallow whole_

If Aziraphale died, Crowley - feeling that there was nothing in the world worth living for anymore - would rapidly self-destruct.

Aziraphale did not die. Aziraphale was enough of a bastard to withstand the Hellfire. An angel who would certainly have fallen, if casting out those who indulged their impure impulses was still the done thing in Heaven.

Crowley, however, was still enough of a demon to be almost entirely obliterated by the holy water bath, although he did leave some pieces behind. (Notably: a few bones, one ear, and the entire muscle of his heart.)

If Aziraphale died, Crowley would self-destruct.

When Crowley died, Aziraphale's destructive rage was _not_ directed inward.

The angel's world began - and, more importantly, _ended_ \- with his demon. A world without Crowley should not exist. Did not deserve to exist. In fact, how did a World Without Crowley™ even _dare_ to exist?

The nerve! The absolute cheek of it!

It should stop doing that. Existing without Crowley. How rude of the world. It should stop doing that _immediately_.

Aziraphale, quite out of his mind with grief, politely asked the world to stop existing without Crowley. The world, which could no more bring Crowley back than the angel himself could, did not answer and simply continued to exist.

"Well, if that's how you're going to be, then I am not going to bother being polite anymore, either!"

_ii. what follows just begs to be imbrued_

One Apocalypse had been averted, only for a second to follow it in the form of an angel bent on destroying both Heaven and Hell.

The mortal plane was spared the brunt of his wrath, although did not remain entirely untouched by it. Even in his unholy rage, Aziraphale remembered all the things that Crowley loved about the Earth, and how he loved humans (although the demon would never have admitted to loving anything), and most especially how hard the two of them had worked together to save humanity and all the other fragile things the mortal world contained, only to end up being executed for their efforts by their own people.

If he was being honest with himself, Aziraphale had never liked the other angels much, anyway. Killing them was cathartic and almost... dare he say... _fun_.

At some point he'd retrieved his flaming sword. Or stolen another one. He had no memory of acquiring it, but one was in his hand now, as he slashed his way through the legions of horrified angels. Most of them did little to protect themselves from the blazing blade, staring at their former compatriot with wide eyes, like deer in headlights, paralyzed as he cut them down one by one.

Where were the archangels? Gabriel was most deserving of a messy end at the point of his sword, with Sandalphon following not far behind him - because that was what Sandalphon _did_, followed Gabriel around agreeing with him, stupid sycophant angel. How had that little toady ever been elevated to the rank of archangel in the first place?

Moving right along, Uriel could use a nice clean head removal. And Micheal...

Michael was the one who had taken the holy water down to Hell.

Where _were_ the archangels? Had Michael even returned from Hell yet?

_I'd better go and check_, Aziraphale thought to himself.

The next thing he was conscious of was storming the crowded basement hallways of Hell. He had no memory of even deciding to travel there, or how he'd managed to get inside, since angels should not be able to enter the demons' domain without some kind of infernal security clearance.

_iii. what follows me as the whitest lace of light_

"Demon," said a soft, familiar voice.

The very same voice that used to call him 'angel' in that same tone.

"Crowley?"

The name slipped from Aziraphale's lips before he had a chance to suspect it might be some kind of trick, and by the time that thought did cross his mind, he had already turned toward the source of the voice.

"It's me," the figure reassured him.

Although he was dressed in white rather than his customary black, the face definitely looked like Crowley's - right down to the golden snake eyes. If the snake tattoo was still there, it was hidden under the mass of curls that hung in wild red tangles around his shoulders.

A warm aura of love wrapped around Aziraphale, swiftly followed by Crowley's arms doing the same. All of the rage drained out of the unholy angel at the purified demon's touch, and in that moment he was certain that this truly _was_ Crowley. The sword dropped from Aziraphale's grip, flames extinguishing when it clattered to the ground, as he brought his arms up to return his resurrected beloved's embrace.

"You don't know how good it is to see you again, my dear," Aziraphale said, his words muffled against Crowley's hair as he clutched the demon to him.

"I think I have some idea."

"But... how is this _possible_? You were _dissolved_ in _holy water_." The words were accompanied by a wet sniffle, as Aziraphale was overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of his demon being executed, even now that he was with him again.

"Well," Crowley replied. "There were some... _bits_ of me... left after my execution." Aziraphale cringed at the mention of that, and Crowley patted his back in an awkward attempt at comfort as he continued, "Anyway, with you going on an unstoppable rampage after I died, both angels and demons were praying to have me brought back into existence, since they all figured that was the only thing that could stop you... and God listened to them, and used those bits to... uh... grow a new... me."

~end~

**A/N:** Section headings are lyrics from "Girl's Not Grey" by AFI.


End file.
